


Perfect

by Enigma3000



Category: Shubh Mangal Zyada Saavdhan (2020)
Genre: M/M, Tenderness, aman deserves the world, body image issues, but only mentioned, dear god, gaydhd kartik, how did it end up like this, kartik is a sweetheart, op is yearning, projection? In this household? More likely than you think, this started as a drabble
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-24
Updated: 2020-02-24
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:34:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22879561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Enigma3000/pseuds/Enigma3000
Summary: Aman looks in a mirror, and sees nothing but imperfections. Kartik looks at him, and sees all he's ever wanted
Relationships: Kartik Singh/Aman Tripathi
Comments: 46
Kudos: 153





	Perfect

**Author's Note:**

> If you leave a kudos behind I Will jump in front of a gun for you. also anyone who can guess which Indiana Jones scene the ending of this fic was heavily inspired by gets my respect and admiration

He was looking at, no, scrutinizing every inch of skin visible to him in the mirror, and Aman Tripathi found himself disliking what he saw.

He was glaring at his abdomen. It was covered by a thin layer of undershirt, but his piercing look of disgust went right through it. The rigid muscle he had worked hard and long for went unnoticed, and the soft layer over it stuck out like a sore thumb. To him, anyway.

Aman pinched his sides and sighed. It seemed to him like this last remnant of his childhood would never leave his body alone.

He flexed slightly, noted the disappointing lack of lines on his otherwise reasonably defined bicep, and Aman grimaced. Like he smelled the odour of his mother's horrible mooli ke paranthe wafting from the kitchen.

It's not that he's got any real reason to be worried about his health, really. He was in the absolute pink of health. Perhaps even fit. It's just that… when he had promised himself, at the tender age of 9, that he'd make _ damn sure _ that nobody would point his imperfections out ever again, he had meant  _ all of them. _ Even the self perceived ones (perhaps, those were all that remained). He had intended to get rid of them one by one until absolutely none were left on any part of his body, until there was nothing left for anyone to comment on. Until he was, to his own eyes,  _ perfect _ .

Apparently, years later, he still couldn't quite let go of that promise.

Of course, of  _ course  _ Aman firmly believed everyone was beautiful as they were, you can't go through years and years of insensitive remarks and uncomfortable jibes without vowing to never inflict the same kind of torment on anyone else. 

No, not believed. He  _ knew _ everyone was beautiful as they were. On principle. 

But to apply the same principle to himself? Now _ that _ proved to be a herculean task. 

_ And I’m no hercules, _ he thought, letting himself revel in the hilarity of his self deprecation for a moment. 

Today had declared itself to just be… one of  _ those _ days. One of those days when everything felt just a little out of place, just a little gloomier than usual, just a little off-putting. One of those days when Aman felt smaller and his notions of inadequacy seemed impossibly larger. It wasn’t very often that he was bogged down by the weight of his own self image issues, thank goodness. But the days he was, well… they weren’t enjoyable, to say the least.

He stared at his reflection a little longer, which only seemed to stare back at him with even more disappointment, if that were even possible. Aman took a deep breath, hoping to rid himself of some of the suffocating weight on his chest, even microscopically.

Unsurprisingly, It didn’t really work.

The intentionally baggy T-shirt that he had put on that day because it hid his figure remarkably well, was picked up off the floor, and turned inside out, when a soft  _ "Hey" _ coming from the bedroom doorway halted his actions right there.

He didn’t need to turn around to know who it was, but he did anyway.

“Back so soon?” Aman smiled fondly, still clutching the T-shirt in his right hand.

A shirt Kartik recognised immediately as one of his, but chose not to point it out. Aman looked infinitely more adorable in his shirts than he did anyway, so there was less than nothing to be gained from asking for them back.

“Mmm,” Kartik nodded, “Bad news. Shop was closed, uncle seems to have skipped town for the holidays. Looks like your mithaiyaan will have to wait another day”

The pout that graced Aman’s face upon hearing that made Kartik’s heart swell.

“Arey yaar,” he tilted his head, “Did you knock on his window?”

Kartik smiled. He saw this question coming from a mile away.

“Yes, jaaneman, surprisingly, I remembered to do exactly what you told me to over 800 times,” Aman rolled his eyes, and Kartik pretended not to notice, “But the man’s out of town. We just have to wait for him to come back.”

Aman sighed. “But he makes the best condensed milk, Kartik.”

“I know.”

“We haven’t had any sweets in so long.”

“I know.”

“I could have made kaju katli, your favourite.”

“I know.”

“I wanted to make something special for when we visit mummy and papa.”

“I know.”

“You sound like a broken tape recorder.”

Kartik smirked, the same kind of smirk that appeared on his face any time he embarked on a decidedly bad idea with the complete and utter confidence of a man undefeated by rationality.

“...I know.”

The T-shirt that was in Aman’s hand a second ago caught him squarely in the face.

“Jerk.” Aman mumbled, running a hand through his hair. It was something he did when he’s mildly agitated, and yes, being denied condensed milk probably  _ did _ warrant mild agitation, but Kartik could tell there’s something else on Aman’s mind. 

His suspicions were confirmed when Aman mumbled to himself again. Quiet enough that Kartik would’ve missed it, had he not been listening specifically for it.

“Probably should lay off the sweets, anyway.” Aman said to himself, and Kartik’s mind lets out an audible click.

_ Ah. _ Today was one of  _ those _ days.

_ Not under my damn watch, _ he thought.

“Aman.” 

The man in question looked up, and his boyfriend could tell with absolute certainty that his expression was carefully kept neutral. 

Another sure sign.

Kartik decided to come closer, to look Aman in the eye when he executed his master plan to get him out of the less than ideal headspace he had currently got himself stuck in. A step, and another, and another, and he was an arm’s length away from where Aman stood. Intriguingly close, yet impossibly far away. Aman wasn’t sure if he should reach out to him or not, until he looked at Kartik and the expression on his face told him to wait. 

And so he did.

For what, exactly, he wasn’t sure.

But he did nonetheless.

Kartik smiled, and it’s that damn half-smile. The self assured, silently commanding one that stole Aman’s heart in the first place. Suddenly, Aman found himself yearning to kiss it off him. 

But he waited.

He watched Kartik look at him long and hard, like a sculptor taking in his latest masterpiece, and Aman couldn’t have told what was on Kartik’s mind if he had tried.

“What were you doing?” Kartik asked, like he didn’t know the answer already. Like the answer didn’t break his heart and twist his soul and create a dull ache that spanned his entire chest. But he needed to hear it from Aman too.

Aman faltered, stuttered, looked everywhere around the room but at Kartik’s eyes. Vulnerability never came easy to him, although it was much, much easier to be vulnerable around Kartik. 

Everything was easier around Kartik, honestly. But  _ easier _ does not always mean  _ easy. _

Kartik frowned, ever-so-slightly, when Aman refused to meet his eyes. The frown deepened when Aman visibly swallowed.

When he saw Aman start to fidget absently, Kartik began to wonder if he would get the answer out at all. When he watched Aman’s hand rise and touch the back of his neck, (a stellar indicator of Aman’s discomfort, Kartik had come to learn), Kartik began carefully planning his next words. There was no way to approach this other than head-on. Rip the metaphorical bandaid off, if you will.

Aman was very close to imploding when Kartik took a step closer, and landed right in front of the light of his life. His accompanying words quelled the veritable storm brewing behind Aman’s tired eyes.

"Tell me.”

Aman blinked.

_ Tell him? _

"Tell you what?"

Kartik’s easy smile still graced his handsome features, but there was something genuine and heavy behind it.

"Tell me..." Kartik started over, authoritative, and Aman didn't know where this is going or how it was going to end. All he knew was that he desperately wanted to find out. All he was aware of was Kartik slowly inching closer and closer in reach, all he was aware of was that piercing gaze keeping him rooted to the ground. 

"...What you don't like. About this.” the last word is uttered in a tone that makes aman’s heart beat faster, and is accompanied by a vague gesture in Aman’s direction.

“About yourself.”

Aman considered laughing it off, telling him that he's taking all of this far too seriously. He wanted to tell Kartik that he’s being ridiculous, to make a joke (preferably, an innuendo filled one) to hide his obvious discomfort. Or, better yet, take this in a direction with an ending they'd both rather enjoy. He didn’t have a shirt on anyway, might as well make the most of it.

He wanted to do all of that, and so much more, but there was a level of sincerity in Kartik’s tone and somberness in his eyes that Aman couldn't help but listen.

He didn’t really know what to say, or why he was even being asked this, but he answered anyway. He felt like he must.

"My..." he trailed off, his mind suddenly overtaken by something so incredibly familiar and so incredibly frustrating that he silently curses the skies above.

He was  _ shy. _

Of course he was shy, he had been shy all his life. “Shy” was practically a personality trait at this point.

But he was…  _ Shy. _ It was odd.

He spoke through it anyway.

"... waist?"

It was a question, more than a statement, but Kartik treated it like the latter nonetheless. Aman watched in silent, yet rapt attention as his boyfriend got on his knees in front of him. Aman thought he knew exactly where this was going, took a deep breath to prepare himself and watched eagerly as Kartik moved closer, and…

...placed a gentle kiss on his waist, right through his undershirt.

"Perfect," he whispered, voice heavy with emotion and devotion and sheer, unadulterated awe. Like he genuinely meant what he was saying. 

"Perfect on its own, perfect fit for my hands too."

Aman didn't know how to react, so he chose simply to stare at the man in front of him instead. That had  _ definitely _ not gone down the path he'd originally hoped it would, but… he found himself strangely wishing for more of this. 

_ Whatever _ it was. He was still having trouble processing what had just happened. It was so much more innocent than what he’d been expecting, and yet so… breathtakingly intimate, that he needed to steady himself for a moment before he could form sentences again.

"What else?" Came Kartik's voice, cutting through the haze clouding his mind.

Aman stilled. Considered it. Tried to predict what his next words could bring him, and what he needed to say based off of that.

But that got him absolutely nowhere, and he simply resorted to honesty instead.

"My biceps,” he said, speaking neither too fast nor too slow, “Wish they were bigger."

Kartik smiled from his position on his knees, looked down, and shook his head ever so slightly. If Aman could have seen his face, he would have seen Kartik's mildly amused expression. Which is exactly why Kartik put his head down in the first place. He couldn't have this ridiculous, wonderful man mistaking his rueful amusement for mockery. Kartik was smiling because, quite frankly, he found it hard to believe this beautiful man could possibly see himself as anything less than simply gorgeous. He cursed whatever circumstances, whatever people led to this situation, but pushed the thought to the back of his mind.

They didn't matter. 

They never would matter.

All that mattered was Aman.

He stood slowly, taking the time to leave a light caress of his finger along Aman's waist. Aman probably would have thought nothing of it, had his senses not been heightened immensely. By the very man standing in front of him, now looking him deep in the eyes. Like he was trying to convey a million things through them that he couldn't hope to put into words, and yet, even wordless, Aman understood them all.

He had to catch his breath.

Kartik stepped closer, not for one second taking his eyes off Aman's. Not when he grabbed Aman's wrist. Not when he raised it up high with a grasp just bordering on firm. Not when he positioned himself ever so slightly to Aman's left, to make what he was about to do all the more easier.

Aman didn't want to ask what Kartik was planning to do. It felt like, if he did, the spell would break. 

He wasn't sure what spell. He just felt it.

Kartik leaned down, lower and lower and lower until his face was at eye level with Aman's arm, and then came the second kiss. Pressed squarely into the centre of Aman's bicep, this time on exposed skin. He didn't feel impulses shoot up the point of contact and through his body, no. All he felt was a slight increase in the warmth, the love, emanating from somewhere deep in his chest. All he felt was Kartik's lips against his arm, and Kartik's hand on his wrist, and the oddly pleasant dryness in his own throat.

Aman had to look away. The sheer intensity of all that he was feeling got to him, made him have to distract himself to keep his sanity intact. He chose to look out the window, count the number of birds on the telephone wire outside.

Seven. 

Seven birds. 

One for each day of the week that Kartik told Aman he loved him.

He was snapped back into their bedroom when Kartik's hand left his wrist. Aman had forgotten he had even been holding it.

"Flawless," Kartik enunciated, making the word bounce around the room for a second, and in Aman's heart forever. 

"Do you have  _ any _ idea how safe you make people feel when you hold them with these?" He tilted his head a little towards Aman's arms.

Aman had to blush. This was… not something he'd ever experienced before. This kind of appreciation for his body.

For  _ him. _

Yes, Kartik never failed to let Aman know exactly what he thought of him, by actions or words or both. But this was above that. This felt… different. In a good way. In a way that made Aman’s pulse race.

When you grow up being just a little shorter and just a little heavier than all the kids around you, the consequences of daring to look different than the ideal stay with you for the rest of your life. Granted, Aman wasn't that kid anymore. Yes, any diet he went on now was purely voluntary (Kartik always hated when he did those). Yes, he could now climb stairs without being winded by the third floor. Yes, he was deemed good looking, even desirable, by people now.

But some scars, you just can't shake off. 

"What else?" Kartik's voice piped up again, snapping him out of a long since forgotten memory from his childhood. One that involved a pathetic excuse of a teacher, a rude joke, an amused classroom, and tears. Load and loads of tears. 

Kartik's voice was a welcome distraction.

"My jaw. Wish it was more defined, i mean, i know it’s nice as it is, but sometimes i-" 

Kartik placed a finger on his lip, effectively silencing him. He shook his head, waving Aman’s words away with good natured impatience. When he drew his finger back, Aman watched it join the rest of Kartik’s fingers as he placed a warm palm on the side of Aman's face. The other found itself on his opposite shoulder. If he noticed Kartik's thumb stroking little lines on his cheek, Aman did not mention it. 

He felt Kartik’s warm breath get closer.

When Kartik’s lips came in contact with aman’s skin, this time, yes,  _ this time _ , there was a palpable glow in his heart and electricity in his veins and a light burning that covered his entire jaw. Aman had been kissed, yes, both by kartik and others. He recognised this feeling as the one that followed a first kiss. The emotion thrumming through his heart so raw and so pure that he felt like a teenager again, feeling jolts run down his shoulder when his best friend rested his chin on it, unaware of how deeply that simple action affected aman. It was bright flames and lightning strikes and the dazzle of fireworks in his mind.

And yet, somehow, it was a tenderness beyond teenage comprehension. It was the calm of a beach on sunny afternoons, it was the soothing patter of raindrops on the window of a car, the first beam of sunlight entering a room when the curtains are moved aside

The kiss set his heart on fire, but calmed it down all the same. A feat, he’d come to notice, only Kartik could achieve.

It was over much too quickly for Aman’s tastes, and when Kartik drew back this time, Aman had his answer ready.

“My lips are chapped.”

Kartik blinked. “Your-  _ what?" _

“You heard me. My lips are chapped. I don’t like it.”

He watched the man he loved more than anything in this world take a second to process what he had just said, waited for the meaning to break through the thousands of thoughts flitting across his mind a million miles a minute. He knew Kartik, knew his overactive mind. Things took a moment to penetrate fully sometimes.

When it finally hit him, though, Kartik let out an amused little squeak, and Aman couldn’t help but fall in love with him a little more.

“That doesn’t count!” he said, still laughing when Aman dragged him oh-so-close by the belt loops of his jeans.

“Like hell it doesn’t” he rolled his eyes, standing on his tip-toes and plastering his smile onto kartik’s. 

They stood there for a second. Unmoving. Just drinking each other in.

And then, impatient as ever, Kartik shifted. He hooked a hand behind Aman’s neck, the other snaking its way down to his lower back, the action igniting a whole new wave up Aman’s spine. Aman moved his head to the side and,  _ oh, _ there it was- there was the little sound Kartik always made at the back of his throat that Aman had come to love. 

To crave.

_ He thinks I’m perfect, _ Aman mused, just as every coherent thought he had was lost to the wind.

_ Perfect. _

**Author's Note:**

> and that, ladies and gentlemen and everyone else, was my first fic for this fandom. Hope you liked!
> 
> I'm @shubhmangalzyadasaavdhan on Tumblr, come screech about this godsend of a movie with me <3


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